


See You Later

by welpslytherin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, First Kiss, Hogwarts Era, Hogwarts Sixth Year, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2021-01-21 04:55:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21293906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/welpslytherin/pseuds/welpslytherin
Summary: Draco's plans to ignore Potter for all of sixth year and his gay urges are thrown out the window when the Boy Wonder himself shows up on the doorstep of the Slytherin common room.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 9
Kudos: 228





	See You Later

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everybody! I'm so glad you've stumbled upon my story about my two favourite boys. This one's a ficlet, because I have yet to acquire the skill of finishing a novella-length work, but I do hope you'll enjoy it!
> 
> Happy reading!

It was one of those nights where the green-and-silver-adorned common room claimed devoid of the usual snark accompanied by the upward tilt of a corner of the source’s lips, the occasional insult another Slytherin would sling at them, or the boisterous laughter from the rest of the group that habitually followed. It was those nights when Draco Malfoy brooded, his heart both drowning and burning inside of him.

“Malfoy.”

Draco begrudgingly turned his attention—or lack thereof—from his Potions essay and towards Blaise Zabini, who for some reason had decided to poke the bear.

“What do you want, Blaise?” Draco snapped, his hold on the ink-dried quill tightening. 

A breathy sigh escaped the dark-skinned boy as he sat down beside him. “You’re brooding again.”

“The _fuck_ I am. Can’t you see I’m trying to finish this bloody essay?” Draco retorted, disdain dripping from his tone. He made to solidify his statement by attempting to write something on his parchment but let out another string of obscenities when he realized the ink had already dried out due to a prolonged period of disuse. 

“You haven’t written a word,” Zabini stated blankly, and Theodore Nott, who had been sitting in an armchair across from the pair sniggered, a small smirk playing on his lips.

Draco exploded, “So _what_? Why the fuck do you care anyway?”

Zabini looked a little startled at his outburst but readjusted his composure quickly, and the blond pretended not to notice his friend glancing at the remaining member of their posse, Pansy Parkinson, apprehensively. The rest of the Slytherins were starting to disperse, anxiously collecting their books and quills and ascending the stairs to their respective dormitories, having seemed to notice Draco’s bad mood and not wanting to be victims of his outbursts. 

Draco scowled. He’d wanted to avoid this conversation, really, he did. But Parkinson, being the slick know-it-all she was (Draco sometimes wondered why she and the Mudblood weren’t friends yet), figured out that his unwonted obsession for Harry Potter turned out there was more to it than met the eye. 

For Draco, being confronted about his _gayness_ had been more or less a catastrophe. It was excruciatingly hard, and not to mention utterly _humiliating_, to verbally admit something that hadn’t even been fully grasped in his head. It only took one slip-up—Pansy had forgotten to use a Silencing charm on one of their conversations once–to have Nott thrown into Draco’s mortifying secret. Zabini was next, though Draco was not sure how he’d known; he suspected Pansy was the one to let the cat out of the bag.

“Well,” Nott dragged out the word as if he knew Draco was dying of impatience to know what the hell all of them were being weird about, “Potter’s outside.”

This sparked something inside Draco and his eyes widened, his mouth falling open an inch. “Wha-what?” He sputtered, not bothering to contain his surprise.

“And wearing quite a fitted shirt, might I add,” rambled Nott, obviously attempting to antagonize the blond boy. Draco gritted his teeth. He tried his best to seem unfazed but the flow of blood circulating in his abdomen and the gradual tightening of his pants suggested otherwise. 

“_Why_ is he here?” Draco all but shouted, standing up from his seat, a vein popping out from his neck in restraint. “If _any_ of you fucking _did_ something—”

“Oh for Salazar’s sake, Draco, we didn’t do anything,” Pansy chimed in, flipping her hair as she sat up from her seat near the fireplace, but her smirk seemed to convey a truth she wasn’t telling. “He was asking about you, and what you were up to…he seemed pretty adamant about that—anyway, so I told him you wanted to talk to him too.”

Draco felt his heart sink. “You _what_?”

At this, Nott, the bloody tosser, just smirked but Zabini piped up from behind him, “You should go. He’s waiting for you, mate.”

Draco’s heart stopped, skipped a beat, then sped up again. He wanted to pinch himself because clearly this must have been some sort of nightmare where all his deepest darkest secrets come to haunt him and then gets spilled all over that ugly red carpet.

“_Why?_” He couldn’t stop himself from saying, palms beginning to sweat at his sides and the blood thumping in his head.

“Probably wants to shag,” Nott sniggered, carding a hand through his dark hair.

The blond fumed, the tips of his ears turning an alarming shade of red. “I’ll fucking kill you, Nott,” he seethed, clenching his fists. Nott just raised his brows suggestively, and then pursed his lips. 

“Are you going to kiss me too? Oh Malfoy, you fucking ponce.”

Draco lunged at him. And then he was thrown backward by a rather strong stunner, from Pansy’s direction. Betrayal, anger, embarrassment–the emotions warred against each other inside the Slytherin’s chest and he let out a low growl.

“Leave him alone, Theo!” He heard Pansy yell at their friend. The remaining Slytherins in the room all scattered in fear, retreating to their dormitories. 

Blaise extended a hand towards Draco but the blond declined, scrambling up to his feet himself and stomping towards the door, where Potter was supposedly waiting for him. Bloody Potter, wreaking havoc in Draco’s social circle without even knowing it. If it weren’t for his near-uncontrollable desire to push the Scarhead against a wall and snog him senseless, he would’ve strangled him by now. Then he realized the latter option would probably result in the same outcome and Draco groaned internally, forcing himself to put one foot in front of the other until he reached the door of the common room.

Draco opened the door and stepped out into the Slytherin dungeon, and sure enough, there was Potter, looking all bloody gorgeous even with his stupid dark hair sticking up all over the place. Draco mentally cursed because now everything he had been doing to ignore Potter was all for nothing and he had to face the bloody Boy-Who-Lived head-on. 

“What the fuck do you want, Scarhead?” Draco spat, mustering up the most vicious glare he could and pointing it at the boy in front of him. 

Potter looked stumped for a moment, his lips parting in momentary ambivalence and his cheeks flushing at the profanity Draco had directed at him. His verdant tee matched his bright green eyes and Draco wondered to himself if he had always loved the said color. “I just want to talk, Malfoy.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” the Slytherin boy replied almost immediately, wanting to get away from the Gryffindor as quickly as possible because if he was scared that if he didn’t, he might give in to one of his many urges.

“Shut up, Malfoy, you don’t even want to say anything to me?” Potter said and Draco raised his eyebrow, his chest tightening because this was not true. This was not true at all—Draco had much to talk about such as whether or not Potter was still seeing the _She-Weasel_.

“Well, you just told me to shut up and asked if I wanted to say something in the same bloody sentence so forgive me if I’m a tad bit confused, Potter,” Draco shot back, biting his tongue so he won’t spill out his last thought. The bespectacled boy narrowed his eyes in evident exasperation.

“Why do you always—are you okay?” Potter asked, his tone dripping with–and Draco couldn’t believe it—_concern_. Draco had started coughing, having choked on his own spit when he came to the aforementioned realization, his hand coming up to cup his mouth, but this was seen to be a bad idea because he had exposed his knuckles, which were red from their prior interaction with Nott’s face, to the dark-haired boy.

“What happened to your hand?” Potter continued to query and stepped closer, and then actually had the audacity to go and _hold Draco’s bloody hand_.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” Draco snarled, jerking away from the contact, his blood searing in his veins and his heart thrumming erratically in his ribcage. Bloody Potter.

“Draco—”

“Don’t call me that.”

Something akin to hurt flitted across Potter’s features and it pulled at Draco’s heartstrings. He wanted to scream, but his throat was suddenly dry. And then, “Why not?”

Draco shut his eyes and gritted his teeth. _Because then it makes me want to pin you against a wall and snog you senseless. Because it makes me want to do unspeakable things to that ridiculously gorgeous body. Because I’m afraid I won’t be able to fucking control myself from doing so the next time you—_

“I just—” Potter hesitated. “What’s the matter with you?”

Draco spluttered. What’s the matter with _him_? The nerve of the Scarhead!

“I don’t have time for your blathering, Potter, why is it that you dragged me out here?” Draco glowered, stepping forward to push Potter on the right shoulder. It wasn’t forceful so the Gryffindor boy to fall on his arse, but it provoked him all the same.

“Hey!” Potter brought up both of his hands and shoved Draco, causing him to tumble backward, not expecting the Boy Wonder to lash back.

“You are _such_ a git!” Draco yelled. The two ended up on the ground of the dungeons, scuffling, robes swishing as they caught with each other in the fistfight. Right then, Draco’s heart was thumping so loudly due to the excessive and rather rough physical contact with the boy of his dreams and he feared the Chosen One would hear it over the scraping of their school robes against the ground of the dungeon, the grunts from their punches, and occasional insults they fling at each other. Draco was _terrified _because he had a bad sinking feeling that Potter was going to _know_. Know what was going on in his Slytherin mind—how much he wanted to hold Potter, how he was practically dying to touch his lips to his, how the feel of his skin against his was enough to rival the feeling of dancing in _heaven_.

“What the hell is wrong with you!” Potter shouted, at last, throwing in one last punch at Draco’s chest, to which the blond replied with a suppressed growl, and sits up. The problem was, however, what or _whom_ he was sitting on top _of_. Potter was practically straddling Draco’s hips, his crotch wedged in between Draco’s stomach and his bloody arse. Much to Draco’s displeasure, the heat in his abdomen began to pool alarmingly fast. 

And Draco just _panicked, _grunting hard and shifting against the Gryffindor on him so he could peel his body off of his own because it was getting too fucking _unbearable_ but the fucking _oaf_ weighed like ten fucking _tons _and Draco just wanted to scream in frustration. “Get _off_ of me, you insolent baboon!” He snarled, hyperventilating because he could feel all his blood rushing south and activating an undeniable hard-on. _Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck_—

“Why are you avoiding me?” Potter whispered, and leaned down marginally, just a little bit, that if Draco hadn’t been perusing him so closely, mesmerized by the dark-haired boy, he wouldn’t have known. Draco struggled beneath him again, panting, his breath coming in guttural bursts, but fucking Potter wouldn’t fucking _move_.

“P-Potter…”

“Why don’t you ever talk to me anymore? You barely even look at me. It’s like you don’t even—” Potter stopped talking, and Draco knew exactly why. It was because his fully erect crotch was now pressing painfully against Potter’s _arse_, straining against the fabric of his trousers and Draco just wanted to hide away forever and just disintegrate into himself because nothing will ever be as humiliating as _this_. And Draco just _knew_ Potter will never spare a glance in his direction ever and would possibly grow to loathe his bent arse. Because he _was_ gay, _completely_, for none other than The-Boy-Who-Lived, and the knowledge that his feelings would never be returned _shattered_ Draco’s heart.

Tears began to collect on the corners of his eyes and he squeezed his eyes shut and turned the other way, not wanting to witness the oncoming look of disgust on Potter’s face. 

He was completely still, his hands still firmly gripping Draco’s shoulders. “Malfoy, I—”

Draco felt a tear slip through the crevices of his eye and slide down his cheek. Then he felt Potter shift and wipe it away. His eyes flew open.

And then all the air in his lungs was knocked out, as his eyes locked onto the most dazzling shade of green he’d ever seen. “Merlin…”

Draco didn’t remember who made the first move, only that when their lips collided, his whole world was completely upturned. Draco didn’t think his heart could beat any faster and his arms clutched at the boy above him, as though he would disappear if he let go, and maybe he would, because right then, his heart pieced itself back together, held together by frail strings. 

Lips melded into one and tongues slid against each other, wet and hot and slippery and so bloody _consuming_ that it drove Draco absolutely _insane_. And Draco just _knew_ he would never get enough of this—because snogging Harry Potter was everything he’d ever wanted and _more_—_better_. 

Draco’s fingers curled around Potter’s robes, causing Draco to realize he didn’t want them to be there. He wanted—he _needed_—Potter to be against him without any clothes to separate them. He yanked at the thick material, hoping Potter would catch on but he just continued snogging the hell out of him, then moving along the length of Draco’s jaw, the expanse of skin right below his ear, and then the curve of his neck, just kissing and licking and _nibbling_ and _fuck_—Draco had never been more aroused in his entire life.

“_Harry…_”

“Bloody hell—_Draco,_” Potter—_Harry_—said back, and Draco was just about bursting with exhilaration. He explored Harry’s mouth, devouring and claiming every inch of it as _his _and he just couldn’t get enough_._

And then, the telltale footfall of someone rounding the corridor wrenched the two apart. They were both panting, all swollen lips and lust-blown eyes, staring at each other as though they were seeing each other for the first time.

Harry gave Draco a shy smile, a maddening shade of pink spreading across his cheeks, and then murmured, his breath hot against Draco’s face, “I’ll see you later?”

Draco couldn’t speak, so he nodded, his own lips curving into a grin, and leaned in to steal one last kiss, just because he _could_. Draco severely hoped this wasn’t a dream.

“See you later, Harry.”


End file.
